


The Overpass

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: The Lion, the Wolf and the Dragon [27]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Agreements, Anger, Angst, Dragonstone, F/M, Fighting, Reunions, Sparring, Strategy, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: "I will not help you murder my sister," Jaime said stubbornly, "and I will not listen to you make plans to do so."





	The Overpass

**Author's Note:**

> Next part! I'm really sorry for the amount of time between these, I'm swamped right now, but I'm doing my best to write when I get a chance :) enjoy!

Riding on the back of a dragon was quite possibly the most exhilarating experience of Arya’s short life.

 

Coaxing a grumpy direwolf into a small side bag was not so exhilarating.

 

Convincing the dragon who would hold the saddle back around his neck and secured underneath his wing to allow this was even less exhilarating.

 

By the time they were ready to climb onto Drogon’s back and fly for Dragonstone, Arya was exhausted, and the sun had hardly set. They had a long night ahead of them, but Daenerys insisted on flying in the dark. “I don’t know how long Drogon can carry this load and I want to get back to Dragonstone in one flight,” she explained. “So we’re taking a more direct route and it’ll put us fairly close to King’s Landing.”

 

“I hate to be the one to say it, but your dragon will still be quite noticeable when he blocks out the stars overhead,” Jaime scoffed.

 

Arya raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “It’s cloudy.” The sky was, indeed, filled with clouds that didn’t look like they were letting up anytime soon. Arya just prayed it would not rain; it was not cold enough for snow this far south yet, but riding wet on the back of a dragon so high in the air would be anything but pleasant. It would be cold as it is, Daenerys had already warned. Something about the altitude, but Gendry knew more about that.

 

They were lucky and no rain fell, but the clouds were low and they arrived at Dragonstone at midday the following afternoon, a little damp and a lot grumpy. Well, Arya and Jaime were grumpy. Daenerys was pleased with the relatively short flight. Gendry and Myrcella were fascinated by the whole thing, as cold as it was. Arya jammed her fingers underneath Gendry’s shirt to watch him yelp and squirm away, and felt mildly better about the whole thing when he glared at her.

 

“Uncle!”

 

She turned, startled, to see Myrcella dash across the beach and fling herself into Tyrion Lannister’s arms. They both stumbled back, until Myrcella ended up on her knees with her face tucked into the dwarf’s neck. Tyrion stroked her hair with one hand and pressed an awkward kiss to the side of her head. He had been the one to send Myrcella to Dorne in the first place, but she seemed to hold no ill will, Arya thought. Maybe that would change later, when Myrcella remembered.

 

Gendry smiled a little bit at them and squeezed Arya’s hand in his, where he had captured it to stop her from pushing cold fingers against his skin again. She smiled up at him, but it faded when Jaime Lannister caught her attention. He was staring at Tyrion with a curious look on his face. When she turned her attention back to Tyrion, Myrcella had released him and now stood at his side, biting her lip anxiously as she looked between her uncle and her father. Tyrion himself was looking steadily at Jaime, face unreadable.

 

“Serving a foreign queen is treason of the highest order,” Jaime said finally. “Being her Hand…”

 

“I believe that murdering the queen would actually be the most terrible kind of treason,” Tyrion corrected him, taking a few steps forward. “I promise you, I have no intention of doing that.”

 

“You will allow it to happen.”

 

Both of their eyes flashed to Arya and she was stricken by how similar they were. If she remembered Cersei’s, maybe she would see a similarity there too. But all she remembered of Cersei was tied to watching a sword swing down over her father’s head and the order to kill an innocent direwolf.

 

She stood straight, opened her mouth, but Tyrion spoke before she could. “Lady Stark has more reason than any of us to want our sister dead,” he said, “but I will not lie to you, Jaime. I will not be saddened to watch it happen. Will you?”

 

Jaime stared at him hard, and then his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Come here.” He met his little brother in the middle, and sank to his knees as Myrcella had, embracing Tyrion tightly. “I cannot forgive you for killing our father,” he said quietly, but Arya heard anyways.

 

“I know,” Tyrion whispered back. “But I am sorry for causing you that hurt anyway.”

 

It spoke volumes, Arya thought, that Daenerys watched the two of them and had no anger in her expression. There was only sadness, and maybe a little bit of regret. The dragon queen had had her brother killed, she remembered suddenly. There truly was no innocence in this group here, except for Myrcella and maybe Gendry.

 

The moment was broken by a loud snarl from the saddle bag, to which Drogon answered with an annoyed huff. “Sorry, girl,” Arya murmured apology, quickly untying the makeshift bag. Nymeria tumbled out of it and shook herself off, snapping in Gendry’s direction when he laughed a little bit. She growled lowly at Drogon once, who let out an answering shriek, before she bounded off across the beach.

 

“Perhaps we should tame ourselves lions, so that we may have beasts of our own at our side,” Jaime said once he was upright again, surreptitiously rubbing his thumb under his eyes.

 

“You will find that these creatures are not tame,” Daenerys pointed out. “The bond we’ve formed with them is far more complicated than that.”

 

Arya glanced down the beach at Nymeria thoughtfully. The direwolf was loyal, but the dragon queen was right – she was wild, maybe even more so because she had spent so much time in the Riverlands with her wolf pack.

 

To Arya’s surprise, it was Myrcella who asked the question once they were inside the fortress. “Are we your prisoners now, Your Grace?” Unlike Jaime, she had taken to calling Daenerys by the proper title immediately. Arya could tell that it rubbed Jaime the wrong way, but he refrained from saying anything to the contrary, except to keep calling Daenerys _Lady Targaryen_ and the like.

 

“Your father swore to help fight the army of the dead,” Daenerys answered. “Right now, I intend to send you both to Winterfell. A raven has been sent to Jon Snow,” she added to Arya. “As soon as a response is received, arrangements will be made.”

 

Jaime put down his fork and shook his head. “I will not have Myrcella near such a threat,” he said. “She will remain here at Dragonstone with you, and if you take King’s Landing, then I want her there.”

 

“Father—”

 

“I want you to be as far South as possible,” Jaime interrupted, placing his left hand over Myrcella’s. “If – when – the threat is eliminated, we will be together again, but you are not to travel North with me. I will not allow it,” he said to Daenerys.

 

“There is no guarantee of her safety here,” Daenerys reminded him. “We are still fighting a war, Ser.”

 

“You told me you would not harm an innocent.” The Kingslayer locked eyes with the queen and Arya felt a chill run down her spine just watching. “You swore to me. Myrcella will stay here until the war is done, Lady Targaryen, or I will do whatever I have to in order to keep her safe.”

 

Tyrion looked worried. “Jaime, you would not escape here.”

 

But Daenerys held up her hand and the dwarf fell silent. She held Jaime’s gaze thoughtfully, and said finally, “If you wish for her to remain at Dragonstone until the wars are over, I will honor that wish. She will have protection, and should something go wrong, she will be sent to Meereen for her own safety. I have allies there that will care for her without question. But Ser, it could be a very, very long time before you see her again, even if all goes well.”

 

Myrcella opened her mouth to argue, but Jaime spoke firmly. “I will not have Myrcella in danger. I swear to you, I will not interfere with your war with my sister as long as Myrcella is kept safe at all costs.”

 

A deafening silence fell over the room. Arya, exhausted before, was drawn tight as a bowstring waiting for Daenerys to speak. She had long since stopped eating and taken Gendry’s hand instead, fingers slowly tightening around his until he had hissed in warning. Jaime’s request and determination was quite similar to her own when it came to his daughter; he had proven more than once that he would do anything for Myrcella, and Arya had done the same for Gendry. But unlike Arya, he was prepared to leave her behind, and Arya would never leave Gendry again.

 

At long last, Daenerys inclined her head in affirmation. “I will protect your daughter,” she swore. “You have my word.”

 

There was far too much to lose if they didn’t trust each other now.

 

**

 

Arya and Gendry sparred that night on the sand, even though the wind had a certain bite to it that it hadn’t before. She was thinking of asking one of the Dothraki women to sew him a warm winter cloak, if she could only find the materials; she supposed they could sail to White Harbor to find something or even have them make the clothes, but there was no doubt that Daenerys would see such a trip as frivolous and unnecessary right now. There was a city to invade and a mad queen to dethrone before they could head North again; the warm clothes could wait.

 

Gendry took her moment of distraction as an opportunity to knock Needle from her hand and slip around her to deftly grab the dagger from her belt. He lifted it in the same motion to her throat from behind and whispered in her ear, “Yield, Milady.”

 

Arya shivered, and it wasn’t because of the cold. “Yield,” she agreed, and the cold point of the dagger left her skin. Gendry grinned at her, eyes bright from the firelight, and she couldn’t help smiling back despite the blush creeping up her cheeks. She accepted the dagger from him and picked up Needle, but made no move to start fighting again.

 

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked her, grin fading a little.

 

Arya tilted her head, taking in his outfit with dissatisfaction. Even covered, the muscles in his arms were still very obviously pronounced. “You won’t survive winter in the North dressed like that,” she said. “That needs to be remedied.”

 

Gendry laughed. “You can’t sew.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes, punching him in the shoulder. “Don’t be rude.” Then she relented, taking his hand and letting him pull her into him so that he could press a kiss to her forehead. “I could always send a raven to Sansa,” she mused. “All she’d need is your measurements and she could work wonders. When I saw her and Jon, she had made his clothes and half of the Vale army’s.”

 

Gendry hummed into her hair and answered, “I don’t see the sister of the King in the North sewing clothes for a bastard boy.”

 

“Well this sister might, if she only knew how to keep her stitches straight.”

 

She felt him open his mouth, but instead of responding, he yawned widely, exhaling a gust of warm air over her head. She looked up at him and smiled at his slightly red cheeks. “Lord Tyrion said that the forge is ready for us when we need it.”

 

Gendry raised an eyebrow. “We?”

 

“Well,” Arya conceded, “he said an extra bedroll had been made up next to the bunk on the ground.”

 

“I suppose no one has told him or Her Grace that we’ve been sharing a bed since getting to Highgarden,” Gendry said casually, but the corner of his mouth twitched, giving away his amusement.

 

Arya raised an eyebrow. “I thought you might miss sleeping in the forge, but I can ask for a room…”

 

He left another kiss on the top of her head and began tugging her across the beach to the forge as she threw her head back and laughed.

 

**

 

The morning brought reality back, even if it had never quite crept away in the first place.

 

Jaime was determined to leave for Winterfell as soon as possible, so as not to be involved in the strike against King’s Landing. He would not even attend the strategy session Daenerys called for. “I will not aid you in killing my sister,” he said stubbornly, “and if you are as intelligent as you seem, you will not let me hear your plans to do so.”

 

“Is that a threat, Ser?” Daenerys asked, violet eyes flashing dangerously.

 

“It is a _fact_ that you should send me North, as far from this fight as possible,” Jaime answered steadily. “I still hold love for my sister in my heart, for all the evil that she has done. It is in your best interests that any temptation be withheld from me.”

 

Arya stepped between them. “A raven has been sent to Winterfell, but you can’t leave until my brother confirms that you will not be beheaded on the spot,” she tried to reason. “It will take some more time.”

 

Jaime slammed his golden hand on the stone table with a resounding clang. “Then write a damned note and send me with it! Send a guard of your Dothraki if you must, but I will not remain here while you plot my sister’s death!” He deflated suddenly, dragging a hand over his face. “Seven hells, just – look,” he said suddenly, “Brienne of Tarth is there protecting your sister, is she not?”

 

Arya frowned. “How did you know that?”

 

“She swore to your mother to protect you girls. I was meant as a trade to Cersei and Joffrey: me for you two. Only you were not there, and Sansa escaped after the wedding. You didn’t speak of this when you were in Winterfell?”

 

Arya shook her head. “I didn’t get much chance to speak with Brienne.”

 

“She will vouch for me,” Jaime sighed, “and if you yourself have written a note informing your brother that I am going to fight alongside him, then maybe…”

 

“There is something we have forgotten in all of this,” Tyrion cut in. Arya met his gaze and instantly remembered, and then wondered how she could have possibly forgotten in the first place.

 

“The Brotherhood Without Banners is in Winterfell,” she finished. “With…with my mother.”

 

She hadn’t yet seen the Kingslayer speechless, and found that she didn’t like it very much. Then, he adopted that scathing tone he spoke to her with when they first met, and she wished for the silence. “Don’t try to fool me with nonsense, Lady Stark,” he scoffed. “Your Night King and his army I will believe, if it will prevent unnecessary death in Westeros. But the Freys told me what they did to your mother. They slit her throat and threw her body into the Trident.”

 

“I know!” Arya shot back loudly, almost shouted. “I was there, with the Hound. And I was there when I met the Brotherhood again on the way back to Riverrun from _exterminating_ the Freys, but Beric Dondarrion wasn’t their leader anymore, my mother was. You’ve heart of the Red Priestesses and Priests, haven’t you, _Ser_? They can bring back the dead, if their Red God is so generous. Beric died so that my mother could come back, so that she could get revenge on the Freys for murdering my brother. But I beat her to it, so she went to Winterfell and took the Brotherhood with her.” She swallowed hard. “Do _not_ speak to me as if I am a child with unbelievable dreams; you know full well that I am not.”

 

She was breathing hard, vaguely aware of Gendry’s hand on the small of her back, grounding her from doing something stupid like punching Jaime Lannister in the face. The room had fallen utterly silent but for the sound of the waves crashing into the beach outside and the occasional dragon’s shriek. At her side, Nymeria was staring at Jaime with her teeth bared in a silent snarl, body tense as if to strike. She relaxed when Arya laid a hand on her head, but the rest of the room did not, and suddenly she could not stand the quiet anymore.

 

“I will write a note for you to take to my brother,” she murmured, “but my mother is not the woman she was in life. What she will do when you arrive, I do not know.”

 

The man looked regretful, eyes soft with sympathy that she didn’t want. “My Lady, I am sorry—”

 

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” Arya said to Daenerys, and shook her head slightly when Gendry raised his eyebrows in question. Before anyone could say anything to the contrary, she left the room with Nymeria at her heels.

 

She felt every eye follow her out.


End file.
